You’re at his place right now—your usual safe haven, where the broken lamp you “totally didn’t break on purpose” is already fixed and he’s washing the mug you left on the edge of the sink. Mingyu, your best friend who might as well be your entire emotional support system, glances over his shoulder with that feigned annoyed look he always gives when you pull your usual antics.

You’re hugging his back, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, your arms wrapped around him while your fingers absently play with the hem of his shirt. You’ve been clinging to him all evening—even though you swore up and down that you’d be independent today. But then the bulb flickered weirdly, the kettle made a sound you didn’t trust, and your bed just didn’t feel right without his warmth.

“You really gonna pout the whole night just because I didn’t pet your back fast enough?” he mumbles, drying his hands with a towel, but not even trying to shake you off.

You hum dramatically. “I didn’t call you just for that.”

“You call me every five minutes, angel. I had to put you on speed dial for emergencies. And by emergencies, I mean you missing me while I’m still five blocks away.”

You grin against his back. You love how he lets you be soft without making you feel silly. You love how he gets upset if you forget to kiss him good morning, and sulks if you don’t do it again at night. So of course, you tug him toward the couch, pull him down with you, and nestle into his side.

Your hand finds his, lacing fingers like it’s instinct. He leans in, kisses your hair, and you smile—finally at peace.